Mistborn: The Final Empire (Mistborn, #1)

Vin had been in skaa tenements before, but never before had they seemed so . . . depressing. The smell of smoke and unwashed bodies was almost overpowering, and she had to extinguish her tin to keep from gagging. The wan light of a small coal stove showed a crowd of people packed together, sleeping on the floor. They kept the room swept of ash, but there was only so much they could do—black stains still covered clothing, walls, and faces. There were few furnishings, not to mention far too few blankets to go around.

I used to live like this, Vin thought with horror. The crew lairs were just as packed—sometimes more so. This . . . was my life.

People roused as they saw that they had a visitor. Kelsier had his sleeves rolled up, Vin noticed, and the scars on his arms were visible even by emberlight. They stood out starkly, running lengthwise up from his wrist past his elbows, crisscrossing and overlapping.

The whispers began immediately.

“The Survivor . . .”

“He’s here!”

“Kelsier, the Lord of the Mists . . .”

That’s a new one, Vin thought with a raised eyebrow. She stayed back as Kelsier smiled, stepping forward to meet the skaa. The people gathered around him with quiet excitement, reaching out to touch his arms and cloak. Others just stood and stared, watching him with reverence.

“I come to spread hope,” Kelsier said to them quietly. “House Hasting fell tonight.”

There were murmurs of surprise and awe.

“I know many of you worked in the Hasting smithies and steel mills,” Kelsier said. “And, honestly, I cannot say what this means for you. But it is a victory for all of us. For a time, at least, your men won’t die before the forges or beneath the whips of Hasting taskmasters.”

There were murmurs through the small crowd, and one voice finally spoke the concern loud enough for Vin to hear. “House Hasting is gone? Who will feed us?”

So frightened, Vin thought. I was never like that . . . was I?

“I’ll send you another shipment of food,” Kelsier promised. “Enough to last you for a while, at least.”

“You’ve done so much for us,” another man said.

“Nonsense,” Kelsier said. “If you wish to repay me, then stand up just a little straighter. Be a little less afraid. They can be beaten.”

“By men like you, Lord Kelsier,” a woman whispered. “But not by us.”

“You’d be surprised,” Kelsier said as the crowd began to make way for parents bringing their children forward. It seemed like everyone in the room wanted their sons to meet Kelsier personally. Vin watched with mixed feelings. The crew still had reservations regarding Kelsier’s rising fame with the skaa, though they kept their word and remained silent.

He really does seem to care for them, Vin thought, watching Kelsier pick up a small child. I don’t think it’s just a show. This is how he is—he loves people, loves the skaa. But . . . it’s more like the love of a parent for a child than it is like the love of a man for his equals.

Was that so wrong? He was, after all, a kind of father to the skaa. He was the noble lord they always should have had. Still, Vin couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable as she watched the faintly illuminated, dirty faces of those skaa families, their eyes worshipful and reverent.

Kelsier eventually bid the group farewell, telling them he had an appointment. Vin and he left the cramped room, stepping out into blessedly fresh air. Kelsier remained quiet as they traveled toward Marsh’s new Soothing station, though he did walk with a bit more of a spring in his step.

Eventually, Vin had to say something. “You visit them often?”

Kelsier nodded. “At least a couple of houses a night. It breaks up the monotony of my other work.”

Killing noblemen and spreading false rumors, Vin thought. Yes, visiting the skaa would be a nice break.

The meeting place was only a few streets away. Kelsier paused in a doorway as they approached, squinting in the dark night. Finally, he pointed at a window, just faintly lit. “Marsh said he’d leave a light burning if the other obligators were gone.”

“Window or stairs?” Vin asked.

“Stairs,” Kelsier said. “The door should be unlocked, and the Ministry owns the entire building. It will be empty.”

Kelsier was right on both counts. The building didn’t smell musty enough to be abandoned, but the bottom few floors were obviously unused. Vin and he quickly climbed up the stairwell.

“Marsh should be able to tell us the Ministry reaction to the House War,” Kelsier said as they reached the top floor. Lanternlight flickered through the door at the top, and he pushed it open, still speaking. “Hopefully, that Garrison won’t get back too quickly. The damage is mostly done, but I’d like the war to go on for—”

He froze in the doorway, blocking Vin’s view.

She flared pewter and tin immediately, falling to a crouch, listening for attackers. There was nothing. Just silence.

“No . . .” Kelsier whispered.

Then Vin saw the trickle of dark red liquid seeping around the side of Kelsier’s foot. It pooled slightly, then began to drip down the first step.

Oh, Lord Ruler . . .

Kelsier stumbled into the room. Vin followed, but she knew what she’d see. The corpse lay near the center of the chamber, flayed and dismembered, the head completely crushed. It was barely recognizable as human. The walls were sprayed red.

Could one body really produce this much blood? It was just like before, in the basement of Camon’s lair—only with a single victim.

“Inquisitor,” Vin whispered.

Kelsier, heedless of the gore, stumbled to his knees beside Marsh’s corpse. He raised a hand as if to touch the skinless body, but remained frozen there, stunned.

“Kelsier,” Vin said urgently. “This was recent—the Inquisitor could still be near.”

He didn’t move.

“Kelsier!” Vin snapped.

Kelsier shook, looking around. His eyes met hers, and lucidity returned. He stumbled to his feet.

“Window,” Vin said, rushing across the room. She paused, however, when she saw something sitting on a small desk beside the wall. A wooden table leg, tucked half-hidden beneath a blank sheet of paper. Vin snatched it as Kelsier reached the window.

He turned back, looking over the room one last time, then jumped out into the night.

Farewell, Marsh, Vin thought regretfully, following.



“ ‘I think that the Inquisitors suspect me,’ ” Dockson read. The paper—a single sheet recovered from inside the table leg—was clean and white, free from the blood that stained Kelsier’s knees and the bottom of Vin’s cloak.

Dockson continued, reading as he sat at Clubs’s kitchen table. “ ‘I’ve been asking too many questions, and I know they sent at least one message to the corrupt obligator who supposedly trained me as an acolyte. I thought to seek out the secrets that the rebellion has always needed to know. How does the Ministry recruit Mistborn to be Inquisitors? Why are Inquisitors more powerful than regular Allomancers? What, if any, are their weaknesses?

“ ‘Unfortunately, I’ve learned next to nothing about the Inquisitors—though the politicking within the regular Ministry ranks continues to amaze me. It’s like the regular obligators don’t even care about the world outside, except for the prestige they earn by being the most clever or successful in applying the Lord Ruler’s dictates.

“ ‘The Inquisitors, however, are different. They are far more loyal to the Lord Ruler than the regular obligators—and this is, perhaps, part of the dissension between the two groups.

“ ‘Regardless, I feel that I am close. They do have a secret, Kelsier. A weakness. I’m sure of it. The other obligators whisper of it, though none of them know it.

“ ‘I fear that I’ve prodded too much. The Inquisitors tail me, watch me, ask after me. So, I prepare this note. Perhaps my caution is unnecessary.

“ ‘Perhaps not.’ ”

Dockson looked up. “That’s . . . all it says.”